


What Men Want

by Calico



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Harry Lives, Hotel Sex, London, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Subterfuge, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 03:59:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4376378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calico/pseuds/Calico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy goes data-mining.</p><p>Warning: reading this story may well affect your HbA1c.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Approx the fluffiest thing I have ever written. I can feel my credibility spiralling down the drain with every word.
> 
> No porn in this chapter, so I'll leave the rating as M for now.

“Harry,” Eggsy said, finding him in his office one Friday evening, voice uncharacteristically quiet. 

Harry looked up. “Yes?”

He took in the figure lurking at the doorway. Eggsy had taken to wearing just half his suit when he was off duty: the dark tailored trousers paired with his white shirt only partly tucked in, no jacket or tie. Harry wasn’t sure if he loved it or hated it. It gave Eggsy an air of rumpled refinement; dressed enough to pass for smart, but with a hint of something that Harry had unwisely allowed himself to think of as _freshly-fucked insouciance_ , which was of course a completely inappropriate way to think about a colleague. 

“I’ve got a - question,” Eggsy said. 

Uncharacteristically timid body language, too; not yet venturing into the room. Harry frowned at him. “What?”

Eggsy opened his mouth, then hesitated, focusing on Harry’s glasses instead. “Uh, are you on comms?”

Harry shook his head. Eggsy must be distracted, not to notice the glass of single malt resting next to Harry’s laptop; just a single measure, a reward for ploughing through paperwork this evening even though Merlin had said he wouldn’t need it until Monday. “No - technically done for the day.”

“Cool, okay, good,” Eggsy said, and Harry tilted his head, curiosity mounting. Eggsy's long fingers were fiddling with the button on his cuff; when he saw Harry looking, he stopped and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“You know you can ask me anything,” Harry said, which earned him a momentary blinding smile. 

“Fanks.” 

Harry returned his smile, and for a long moment they were just looking at each other. 

Then Eggsy blinked, scratched the back of his neck, and blew out a quick breath. “Alright, well, the thing is, Harry…” Another pause, and then, all at once: “Look, can you teach me what men want?”

Harry almost knocked his glass off the desk. “What men _what_?”

“Want,” Eggsy said. 

Harry looked around, half expecting to see Merlin half-hidden somewhere biting his fist in silent mirth. “What men _want_?” he repeated, faintly. The very idea. 

“Yeah,” Eggsy said, looking relieved that Harry got it at last, and now he came into the room and let the door swing shut behind him, strode over towards Harry’s desk. His earlier discomfort had evaporated; in fact, it seemed to have swapped hosts, and was now making itself at home in Harry’s chest instead. “Like,” Eggsy said meaningfully, raising his eyebrows, “for a mission?”

Oh. “Oh, I see,” Harry said, his voice sounding hollow in his head. “For a mission.”

“Mm,” Eggsy said, nodding vigorously. His expression turned pained for a moment. “I just don’t know what men _want_ , y’know?”

Harry began to suspect he was going to develop a headache. This really was the last thing he wanted to think about. He had spent some considerable effort over recent weeks _not_ thinking about Eggsy’s various charms, as he watched the young man’s confidence flourish along with his talents. The thought of those talents being put to a use like this was not pleasant at all. “Which men?”

“Posh ones,” Eggsy said, without hesitation. Then, “Uh, older… posh ones. Not _that_ old,” he added, hastily, and gave Harry a grin that almost seemed apologetic. 

“Right,” Harry said, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. “Gay ones, I presume?”

“I reckon,” Eggsy said. “I mean… Yeah.” 

Harry eyed him doubtfully. “Can you give me a few more - er - details, of this mission of yours?”

“Soz, mate,” Eggsy said, grin broadening. “Classified. But I can tell you it’s… in Soho.”

“Ah.”

“In a gay bar.” 

“I see.”

“Which is why I, like,” Eggsy said, and he seemed positively relaxed, now, his consonants softening almost to the point of a drawl, “need your help? As a more experienced agent. Need some pointers on, like, how you would do it. Or if I was trying to get in wiv’ you, how would I get started, you get me?”

“Indeed,” Harry said, making a mental note to have a stern word with Merlin about sending the new recruits on this sort of thing. They’d come to a unanimous decision, he’d _thought_ , during their last Kingsman exec meeting, that the so-called ‘honeypot mission’ archetype was better suited to the last century, and that if at all possible they should be avoided in future. And yet here Eggsy was, being drafted despite being one of their newest recruits into a mission that seemed to fit precisely that archetype! And furthermore, he must have been woefully underprepared, hence this entire sorry conversation. 

“So…?” Eggsy was saying, cocking his head, and Harry sighed. 

“Yes of course I’ll help,” he said, closing his laptop and pushing it to one side, steepling his fingers on the desk and resolving to give the poor boy his full attention. “Fire away.”

“Right,” Eggsy said, and then hesitated, eyes darting sideways. “Uh.”

Harry waited patiently for Eggsy to get over whatever psychological obstacles he was grappling with. 

“I don’t s’pose,” Eggsy said carefully, drawing a figure of eight on Harry’s desk with his forefinger, “you’re like… hungry or nothing?”


	2. Chapter 2

The restaurant was a tiny Italian place a few minutes down the road, with the ubiquitous checked red-and-white tablecloths and dribbling candles stuck in wine bottles in the middle of the table. The wine list was abysmal but the lighting was low; Harry could see how Eggsy’s disquiet would be lessened by these sorts of surroundings.

Now they were sat, however, with Harry prepared to give his full attention to the problem at hand, Eggsy seemed disinclined to talk about it. 

“Beer then?” he asked, as Harry skimmed the wine list, and Harry realised his lip had curled as he took in the meagre overpriced selection.

“Corona, please,” Harry said, and Eggsy flagged down the waiter, ordered two. 

The waiter brought them two ice-misted bottles wedged with slices of lime, a basket of various breads, a dish of dark green oil with a generous layer of balsamic vinegar wobbling on its surface, and a pot of mixed olives. 

Eggsy gave Harry a proud grin as the various items were spread out between them. “Free,” he said smugly. 

“Complimentary,” Harry corrected.

Eggsy rolled his eyes, still grinning. “Same difference,” he said, reaching for the bread, and Harry didn’t have the heart to correct him again. 

The waiter moved away and Eggsy started making short work of the bread basket, tearing off ragged pieces and dipping them into the oil, then shoving them in his mouth and licking his gleaming fingers. Harry tried not to look too closely at the fingers. Or the lips. 

“You _are_ hungry,” he remarked, and almost took a piece of bread himself to give his hands something to do, but in truth he didn’t have much of an appetite right now.

“Been training all day,” Eggsy said, pushing the lime into his beer bottle with his thumb, and then licked the foam off it, briefly taking the tip of his thumb between his lips. 

Harry glanced away, slightly irritated by his own predictable thoughts, but it wasn’t his fault if everything Eggsy did seemed almost _designed_ to inspire flickers of lust. It was just a fact he had to live with. 

“So,” Harry said, when it became apparent that Eggsy wasn’t going to broach the conversation first, “was there a list of specific questions you wanted me to answer, or did you have in mind more of a general chat?”

Eggsy’s mouth was full; he chewed, swallowed, washed it down with a swig of beer. “I guess, both,” he said eventually, and gave Harry an expectant look as if it were his turn.

Harry pushed the lime down into his own beer and took a sip of the resultant fizzy surge. “Okay,” he said, resisting the urge to drink half the bottle. “Well, in the absence of knowing the mission objective itself, I’m presuming you need to attract and keep the attention of your mark, over the course of - what? An evening?”

“Maybe longer,” Eggsy said, and Harry couldn’t prevent a tiny grimace.

“I see,” he said. He hesitated, then said delicately, “Look, Eggsy. Do you—do you have _any_ experience in this area, at all?”

Eggsy glanced briefly over Harry’s shoulder, as if checking for eavesdroppers. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, which Harry was not expecting; Eggsy’s next words sounded distant, muffled by the sudden pounding of Harry’s pulse in his ears. “But only with guys my own age, and not, y’know - nothing serious.”

“Right,” Harry said, as images of Eggsy getting up to _nothing serious_ with _guys his own age_ flooded his brain in a pornographic rush. “That’s. Well that’s helpful. At least.”

“Yeah, like, I’ll know what to do when we get down to it,” Eggsy said, which was not helpful at _all_ for Harry’s equilibrium right now, “it’s just everything else what I’m struggling with, you know what I mean?”

Harry nodded curtly and raised his beer bottle to his lips, needing another cooling mouthful to cope with the sudden vision of Eggsy _getting down to it_ with an undeserving stranger; he saw Eggsy’s gaze drop to his mouth, and for a moment it was as if they weren’t here about a mission at all. They were just two men having a candlelit dinner together, a whole evening of possibility stretching out in front of them. Harry tried not to imagine it - the pressure of a knee beneath the table, the brush of hands, the noises Eggsy might make when Harry gave in at last and kissed him deeply - and then the moment was broken by the waiter blustering over to collect the empty bread basket. 

Harry swallowed and looked away, and realised he had drunk more of his beer than he’d intended. “Right,” he said faintly, when the waiter had gone again. “So I believe the question was, what do men want when they are older and posher than your, er, usual type?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy said, looking at him intently. “That’s one of the questions.”

“Well the short answer is, they want the same things that most men want,” Harry said, keeping his voice casual. Just some tactical advice, nothing too personal. “Sex, companionship - a spark,” he said, and he’d had a vague idea that he’d make a joke, here, but absolutely nothing came to mind.

“But like… how can I make him think he wants that from me?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll have no difficulties attracting his attention,” Harry said, and then added in his most reasonable voice, as if a throwaway comment, “You’re very attractive - any man would be hard pressed not to notice that.”

Pleasure lit up Eggsy’s face, even warmer than candlelight, and Harry found himself continuing: “And you can be entertaining - charming when you put your mind to it - but also attentive, when required. You’re very good at making the other person feel like they’re the centre of the world. No,” he said, abruptly conscious he’d said far too much, “I’m sure you’ll do—very well. Ah, good!” he added, gratefully shifting his focus as the waiter approached again. “The pasta.” 

The pasta was indeed very good, and Harry found he had an appetite after all; anything to occupy his treacherous mouth. 

Eggsy dug into his own food with gusto, although Harry was aware that he kept shooting him _looks_. 

Well, best case scenario he’d come off as some sort of lovelorn fool; more likely, he’d unnerved the boy completely. 

“‘Nother beer, Harry?” Eggsy asked casually, when the waiter passed again, and Harry, unaccountably relieved by the return to a more comfortable discourse, nodded.

“Why not.”

Eggsy waved for two more and then drained his first beer, tipping his head back and closing his eyes, giving Harry a lengthy view of his throat and open collar as he swallowed. One of those occasions where not having a tie looked almost obscene; it was all too easy for Harry to imagine sliding his finger in to undo the buttons on Eggsy’s shirt, feel the warmth of him blazing through the fabric.

The second beer slipped down even more easily than the first. 

“So let me get this straight, right,” Eggsy said conspiratorially, gesturing with a forkful of tagliatelle. “You’re sayin’ I’ve not gotta do anything special to pull this guy, I’ve just gotta play it by ear?” He popped the fork in his mouth and pulled it out clean, raising his eyebrows as he chewed. 

“Broadly speaking,” Harry said, and then felt a flicker of doubt. Was he making light of what was actually a much more challenging prospect, purely because he himself would be putty in Eggsy’s hands? “Of course, it might be more complicated than that,” he said, trying to make it businesslike. “Other factors to consider. Do you know if he’s single?”

“Fink so,” Eggsy said, and cleared his throat. “None of our surveillance’s shown up any, like, significant other.” 

“How about hobbies?”

Eggsy smirked. “Fighting and showing off.”

Harry huffed a laugh. “Charming. Any friends?”

“Yeah, he’s got friends,” Eggsy said. “People he works with. Wouldn’t wanna run into them on a dark night, neither.”

“So you need to get him alone.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Have you thought about your opening gambit?”

Eggsy paused, chasing a last forkful of pasta around his plate, mopping up sauce. “Not exactly,” he said, and Harry had a feeling they were getting close to the meat of the matter.”I thought I might… ask him for help.”

“Ah yes, the ingenue approach,” Harry said, nodding and feeling briefly nauseous. He put his cutlery together, then crumpled his napkin and dropped it on top. “Very effective.”

“The what?” Eggsy said, and then the waiter came to clear their plates, and instead of saying another word along those _particular_ lines, Harry occupied himself with finishing his beer. 

“Pudding?” the waiter suggested, and Harry had always said it was difficult to go wrong with an affogato; he regretted this when Eggsy ate his scoop of espresso-drenched ice cream in one enormous mouthful, his eyes closing in what looked like borderline orgasmic pleasure. 

“Oh, Harry, fucking hell,” Eggsy groaned, slurring the words together, and right then Harry wanted nothing more than to pry Eggsy’s mouth open with his teeth and lick the melting ice cream off his tongue. 

“It is rather good, isn’t it,” Harry said instead, helping himself to a small delicious teaspoonful; trying to savour it but finding his mind too crowded with images of sinking his fingers into Eggsy’s hair and pushing his tongue into Eggsy’s cool sweet mouth and seeing if he could make him groan out _Oh, Harry, fucking hell_ , a few more times. 

Even worse, the espresso seemed to go straight to Eggsy’s head. “The thing is, right,” he told Harry earnestly, leaning forwards across the table, words coming a mile a minute now, “chatting up girls, I’ve got that down, yeah? I know what to say, and where to take ‘em, and boys is easy because they’re, like, only after one thing—” He winked, and Harry made a polite noise in reply and concentrated on not choking on his ice cream. “—But men, y’know? _Men_ , I feel like I’ve gotta be on top of stuff to impress them, y’know? Like if I was trying to chat you up, I couldn’t exactly just walk up and go, _Alright, mate, wanna fuck?_ You wouldn’t wanna cop off with that guy.”

“Er,” Harry said, resisting a crazed urge to look Eggsy in the eye and say, _Your place or mine?_ “No,” he said carefully, “no, I do agree, while… undoubtedly effective, I can see where that approach may leave something to be desired in a mission-based context.”

“So that’s why I need to know more about, y’know, the _scene_ ,” Eggsy said, sketching a strange landscape with his hands. “Like, dates and stuff - what are the good places? Is this a good place? What about bars? Clubs? I’ve never done any of it, I just feel like I need to _know_ , get what I mean?”

Quite the barrage of questions. Harry nodded, rubbed his lower lip with one bent knuckle. “You want to do your research.”

“Yeah.”

“Commendable,” Harry said, with a sinking feeling. It would be a fifteen minute cab ride to Soho Square. It was looking more and more likely that it was the decent thing to do. Pretty damned amusing, the association of Soho Square with the word _decency_.

“So, uh,” Eggsy said, and here it came, “So what’s it like being actually in a gay bar? Is there, like, dancing and shit?”

Harry sighed and reached into his jacket for his wallet. “I suppose we may as well do the full tour.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such observant! Very spy. Wow.

They headed to The Edge, where even at this late hour half-naked bodies thronged out into the street, spilling off the pavement and into the road, a heady buzz in the air. Harry’s suit started to feel less like armour, more ridiculous, although the rapacious stares they were receiving as they moved doggedly towards the bar suggested that the majority of the crowd didn’t think he looked ridiculous at all. An unseen hand snuck onto his bum; Harry looked around to fix the owner of the hand with a quelling stare and found himself looking into the impudent eyes of a glittery high-cheekboned young man - probably even younger than Eggsy. 

“Hello,” the boy said, squeezing appreciatively and giving him a lascivious smile, and despite himself Harry felt a flash of lust. A mouth made for fucking. 

“I’ll thank you to—” he started to say, but was interrupted by Eggsy butting in close, one hand coming up flat on the boy’s chest, pushing him steadily away. 

“He’s _fucking_ taken, now fuck off,” Eggsy told him in a low, murderous voice, and the boy’s eyes widened as he looked between them and then down at Eggsy’s hand. 

“Sorry mate,” he said quickly, raising his hands in a universal gesture of surrender, and ducked away into the crowd. 

“—Unhand me,” Harry finished, lamely, and raised his eyebrows at Eggsy, giving him an amazed smile. “Well aren’t you short and to the point.”

Eggsy was all sunshine again. “Well you’re here with me, ain’t you?” he said, nodding at Harry to follow him into the bar and saying over his shoulder, “We’ve got a job to do. I’m not having some teenage prick get you all distracted.”

“I wasn’t distracted,” Harry said after him, conscious of the crowd of men parting like the Red Sea to let Eggsy through, their gazes raking over him in swift, efficient assessment: young, yes; fit, yes; intensely attractive, yes; available—and their eyes flitted to Harry, and Harry did his best to close the distance to Eggsy’s heels and telegraph, categorically, _No_.

Inside the bar the music was a Millennial pop nightmare. The air was closer, the heat was closer, the bodies were—very close indeed. Everywhere one could look there were men, chatting and drinking, kissing, grinding together. Erotic and discomforting in equal measures. 

“Whoa,” Eggsy said, and Harry followed his gaze to where a tattooed man in leather shorts and little else was sticking his tongue down the throat of another man in a checked shirt and the skinniest black jeans Harry had ever had the misfortune to see. One of the tattooed man’s big hands was down the back of the skinny jeans, and his pumping knuckles were clearly outlined against the beleaguered fabric. “That’s—whoa.”

Harry cleared his throat, trying to see if there was a better route to the bar that didn’t involve brushing right past them. “Gin?”

“Sure,” Eggsy said, and then he was freezing, just a step ahead of Harry. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” a man was saying to him; a tall and tanned Michelangelo in a tight white vest, with an aristocratic face somehow enhanced by the coarse slant of an old broken nose. _Textbook Rugger bugger_ , Harry thought, gritting his teeth as the man’s hand lifted to cup Eggsy’s face. “Fancy a drink?”

 _Get the fuck away from him,_ Harry thought, and was moving before he’d really considered all his options; he stepped close and slid his arm heavily around Eggsy’s shoulders from behind, and fixed the man with his best, worst stare. “Excuse us,” he bit off, his voice descending into the register reserved for pure lust and absolute fury. “ _We’re_ trying to reach the bar.”

He felt Eggsy melt a little against him, the taut lines of his body softening to press back against Harry, eliminating the last invisible inches of space between them. Whether it was this glorious display or the effect of Harry’s interjection didn’t really matter; the man gave a short strangled laugh and melted off into the crowd. 

Heat was chasing over Harry’s skin, making him achingly aware of all the places they were touching. 

They were no closer to the bar.

Eggsy turned his head, without dislodging Harry’s arm. “Thanks.”

Harry looked at the downward slant of Eggsy’s eyelashes, the supple line of his mouth, and felt an unholy possessiveness rise up inside him. “You’re welcome.” 

Harry felt him shift, and for a moment he thought Eggsy was pulling away; but Eggsy was just turning, under Harry’s arm, until he was looking up at him. His voice was low. “I, uh… Dunno if this is the sort of place the bloke we’re talking about would take me.”

“Depends what he wanted,” Harry said, and Eggsy’s eyes rounded at that. Harry felt a faint stab of contrition, schooled himself. He wasn’t supposed to be scaring the boy. “No, no - you’re right, of course. You wanted to know where someone more mature and well-off would expect the evening to go - I doubt it would be here. Much more likely just around the corner.”


	4. Chapter 4

They still remembered him at the Townhouse, although he hadn’t been in over a year. Which was a mark of exemplary hospitality, Harry thought, as an impeccably tailored waiter showed them through the exquisite ground floor cocktail parlour - full of pretty young things who looked like they’d just stepped out of _Brideshead_ \- and up the curving staircase to the quieter members’ bar. 

It was set up like a grandiose sprawling Edwardian drawing room, candlelight picking out lots of dark wood furniture and gleaming olive-coloured velvet. Soft, jaunty music played, the sound crackly with added-on gramophone. It wasn’t empty by any means - mostly couples, mostly same-sex - but there was enough space and shadow up here that Harry had always found it was easy to feel like he had the place all to himself. 

“Nice,” Eggsy said softly, padding along next to him, and then grabbed Harry’s arm and urgently directed his gaze. “Whoa. Is that an _actual piano_?”

Harry grinned at the idea that Eggsy found the presence of a piano to be similarly as diverting as the sight of a man being fingered in public. “Complete with pianist,” he said, nodding at the young woman in black tie sipping iced water at the bar. “She’ll be between sets. Any requests?”

“Nah,” Eggsy said. “Dunno any piano music.”

Harry felt his mouth quirk. “What are you listening to at the moment?”

A line appeared between Eggsy’s eyebrows. “Uh, Tinchy Stryder?” 

Harry wasn’t entirely sure if that was a person or a band, but he smiled anyway. “Well, let’s see, shall we?” he said, leading Eggsy over to the woman leaning against the bar. “Excuse me - Charlotte Addison, isn’t it?”

Addison gave him a polite smile without the warmth of recognition. “Yes?”

“I remember your talent from last year,” Harry said, because it never hurt to butter an artist up first. “Really splendid improv., very natural. Wondered if you might oblige me with something a little frivolous… are you by any chance familiar with the music of _Tinchy Stryder_?”

Addison’s eyebrows went up a couple of delighted inches, and she gave a much more natural grin. “Yes.”

“I don’t suppose you could treat us to a rendition of one of your favourites? And then allow me to shout you a drink for your trouble, of course.”

“No problem,” Addison said, and threw a grin at Eggsy as well.

“For real?” Eggsy demanded, looking incredulously from Addison to Harry and back again, and then, when Addison shrugged and nodded, “You can just… do that?”

“As I said, she has a great talent,” Harry said, and touched Eggsy’s elbow. “Shall we?”

The waiter showed them to one of the more private alcoves at the far end of the room: a battered Chesterfield sofa nestled deep into a towering bay window, flanked with artistically cluttered bookcases and a glossy expanse of coffee table. A couple of large leather armchairs completed the circle of seating, closing them off from view even more; Harry was privately pleased when Eggsy neglected to sit in either of them, instead wordlessly joining him on the sofa. 

Harry was starting to feel the beers working on his brain by now, softening the edges of his thoughts and giving his body a pleasant background hum of relaxation. He crossed one leg over the other and rested his arm along the back of the sofa, permitting himself a little more informality than normal. 

The soft recorded music faded away, and a flurry of piano notes rang out instead: chaotic at first and then resolving into something resembling a melody. Harry was watching Eggsy’s face, so he saw the flare of recognition possibly even before Eggsy noticed he was reacting. 

He gave Harry another of those blinding, gorgeous grins. “ _Mental_ ,” he said fervently, as the song picked up. “Love it. Thanks, Harry,” and Harry was overcome by a strange diffidence in the face of his gratitude. 

“You’re welcome,” he said. “She is very good.”

“Sick as fuck,” Eggsy agreed, still grinning. 

“Can I bring you any drinks?” the waiter asked, and Harry realised he’d forgotten he was there.

He looked up at the waiter, whose face betrayed the barest hint of amusement. “Er, yes,” Harry said. “Two fingers of Glendronach, one ice cube.” He glanced back across at Eggsy. “Do you know what you want?”

Eggsy was looking at him. “Yes.”

There was a brief pause. Harry raised his eyebrows a fraction. The waiter waited. 

Eggsy blinked slowly, then said, “Vodka coke.”

Harry couldn’t hold back a wince. But—“Yes, well, one of those as well,” he said, with an apologetic look to their waiter, who was definitely smirking now. “And one for the pianist, whatever she wants.”

“Of course, sir,” the waiter said, with a neat little nod, and left. 

Eggsy was looking around their alcove with _casing the joint_ eyes, a slow sweep that took in the secluded, cosy opulence and then wound up on Harry himself. 

“Rumour has it,” Harry told him, “back in the late Victorian era, this building was a notorious opium den.”

“Shut up,” Eggsy said, and his eyes twinkled. “You reckon they could still get us some?”

“ _No_ , Eggsy,” Harry said, trying to sound firm - although he could feel his own eyes were betraying how unbearably _fond_ he was of this gorgeous, disreputable young man. 

Eggsy’s returning grin was downright irrepressible. “Bet they could, though,” he said, looking around eagerly, then leaning closer and jostling Harry with his elbow. “That door over there,” he said, in a stage whisper, patting Harry’s thigh and then pointing surreptitiously along it, hand resting briefly on Harry’s knee, “see it? That door - that is blatantly where they store the opium.” 

Harry tried to ignore the light pressure of Eggsy’s hand, looked where he was pointing instead, across to a partially visible door in the furthest wall. “That’s just the door to the upstairs rooms.”

“What upstairs rooms?” Eggsy demanded, then gave him a frankly salacious grin. “The members’ members’ bar?”

Harry snorted. “If that’s what you want to call hotel rooms, then yes.”

Eggsy’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and Harry felt a shiver of warm unease. “This is a hotel?” 

“A very small one,” Harry said. “ _Bijou_ , I think the hipsters would call it. Or the estate agents. One of those odious clans.” 

Eggsy wasn’t listening, and the interested way he was looking at the door was starting to make Harry tense. “Rooms for like, hooking up?” he asked.

If he brought the fucking mark here, Harry thought, with sudden ferocity, Harry was never going to come here himself again; also there may be a mysterious fire alarm malfunction. All damn night. “Not necessarily,” Harry said, as dry as he could manage, and then felt tiresomely obliged to add, “Although I’m sure they can be… discreet, if necessary.” 

“Huh,” Eggsy said, like he was filing that away for later, and then the song changed again and he looked at Harry with renewed incredulous pleasure. “ _Get in_.”

Just like that, Harry’s tension dissipated. “Good?” he asked. 

“Fucking excellent, Harry,” Eggsy said, tipping his head back against the sofa and grinning at the ceiling.

Harry watched him, listening to the pianist with a half-smile. From Eggsy’s reactions, he’d guess she was making her way through an entire album. He still didn’t recognise the music himself, but he could see Eggsy’s finger tapping against his thigh, and that was immensely satisfying. 

“I have to say,” Harry said softly, in the lull between one song ending and another, equally alien, starting up, “I do much prefer this sort of place. Compared with that awful bar.”

Eggsy flashed him another grin. “Not one for dancin’, Harry?”

“I didn’t say _that_ ,” Harry retorted, and then, as Eggsy’s eyebrows lifted, he made a show of sniffing and saying loftily, “But I hardly think what any of those men were doing can really be categorised as ‘dancing’.”

“More like… bump n’ grind,” Eggsy drawled, with a lascivious little _shift_ of his hips, one hand miming a proprietary grip on an invisible partner.

Harry snorted. “Quite.” Of _course_ Eggsy had all the ridiculous moves. “But I daresay that’s more your generation’s forte than mine.”

“I dunno,” Eggsy teased, “I’d like to see you try,” and that got a proper laugh from Harry, just for a moment, while Eggsy beamed at him. 

The room seemed to go indistinct at the edges, and a dangerous glowing feeling swept through Harry’s chest.

“Perhaps another time,” Harry said, grinning back. “But as I was saying - I can hear myself think, here. There’s the _possibility_ of holding a proper conversation.”

“What would he want to talk about?”

The mood cooled in an instant, and Harry felt his grin stiffening on his face. Ah, yes. _Him_. Stupid that for a moment he’d actually forgotten why they were here—why Eggsy was here, at least. 

Harry returned his voice to a businesslike crispness. “He would want to get to know you, I expect,” he said. “See if you were his type.”

“What do you mean, type?” Eggsy asked, and now Harry found his direct gaze discomfiting.

“You really haven’t done much research, have you?” It came out sharper than he’d planned, and tension sprang up in Eggsy’s eyes. And that - Christ, that wasn’t what he wanted either. “Sorry,” Harry said quickly, wrinkling his nose and waving away the moment. “I know - you’re doing it now.”

“’S alright,” Eggsy said, and now he sounded cautious, almost subdued. “Thanks for like, y’know, helping me.”

Again, his gratitude made Harry squirm. If Eggsy knew how much he had been enjoying—some of this. It didn’t bear thinking about. He cleared his throat. “There are worse ways to spend a Friday night,” he said, and then went on airily before Eggsy could latch on to _that_ , “So anyway, as with any mission, you need to decide how you’re going to play it. There are various archetypes that classically hold particular appeal to the sort of older man who’s out looking for a - younger companion, for an evening. I can certainly brief you in the basics. Of course it depends on his tastes.” 

The slip back into lecturing mode seemed to have cleared the air; Eggsy looked like he was about to start taking notes. “Archetypes,” he said slowly, like the word was a sip of liquor he was tasting for the first time. 

“Yes,” Harry said, warming to his topic; since the very beginning he’d been susceptible to the exquisite tension of having Eggsy’s full attention. He tried to make a reasonable list, crossed them off on his fingers. “Various approaches you can take. You can play it very neutral, of course. Or there’s the ingenue - which we touched upon earlier - or the slut, the rent boy, the pushy bottom, or you could play it straight, or…” He became aware of Eggsy’s jaw hanging slightly open, and stopped abruptly. His damned mouth had got away from him again. “Well, yes,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Lots of types.”

“ _What_ ,” Eggsy said, with a sort of deliberate glee, “the fuck,” grinning now, “is each of them?”

“Ah,” Harry said, and then thankfully the waiter returned with their drinks, and there was something else to occupy him for a moment. 

Eggsy took a slurp of his vodka-coke and waited, eyes fixed expectantly on Harry, not even coming close to letting him off the hook. 

Harry swallowed a mouthful of excellent whisky, barely tasting it. 

“Okay,” Harry said eventually, and then resolved to just get it over with. “Well, if you want to drill down into it. The slut is self explanatory, but I wouldn’t recommend assuming that role unless you wanted things to progress rather quickly.” He tried not to imagine Eggsy _assuming that role_. “The ingenue - typically a wide-eyed young thing, fairly hesitant, not too confident. The trick is to project that this might be your, er, first time with a man. As to why this _works_ , well—” The whisky burned into his brain all at once, and he gave Eggsy a reckless smirk. “—It’s the joy of corruption, isn’t it? First times. Can be quite a nice little seduction, can be more… manipulative.” 

Eggsy was hanging onto his words, leaning in with an expression so impressed it bordered on incredulity, as if Harry were relaying the best gossip in the universe. The reality of what Harry was actually relaying hit him like a ton of embarrassing bricks, and he cleared his throat again. Christ, and now he had to tell Eggsy about the appeal of rent boys. 

Crashing on. Harry said quickly, “Rent boy - fairly obvious - same motivation regardless of gender, I’d imagine - they tend to be pretty and young, very forward,” he said, with a nod in Eggsy’s direction; Eggsy licked his lips, like an experiment, and Harry looked away sharply, “and I gather it’s mostly a matter of unequal power dynamics or, um, sheer lust.”

“Right,” Eggsy said, nodding and pressing his lips together. In the candlelight, his eyes were practically sparkling. “Got it. And the… what was it? The _pushy button_?”

Harry briefly wished the floor would open to swallow him up so he might escape this entire conversation. “Bottom,” he corrected. “It’s the opposite of a top,” he tried, in the hope that Eggsy would miraculously know all about _that_. No such recognition was forthcoming. “Do you… know what a top is?”

Eggsy turned his mouth down almost comically, shook his head. 

“Right,” Harry said, and now he felt like the floor _had_ opened under him, and he was about to fall through. This conversation was so far out of hand it was difficult to comprehend how they’d got here. “Well a top is—in the gay scene—well in any scene,” trying to sound matter-of-fact despite groping for words, “the top is the dominant partner.”

“Like, the one in charge?” 

“Yes. Well - not always, but mostly - but crucially,” and the was ridiculous, Eggsy was going to _have_ to know all about this if he was to successfully pass in Soho, “in a gay… pairing, the top is generally the… penetrative partner.”

Eggsy’s eyes grew round. “ _Oh_.” 

“Whereas the bottom is the penetrated partner. In the general sense of things. It can be mixed up.” Harry took another gulp of his drink. “Anything goes, really. World of infinite possibility. But, er, yes. Traditionally speaking, the top gives and the bottom… receives.”

“His cock,” Eggsy said helpfully.

“…Yes. As I said, it’s all subject to… individual negotiation.” 

“Good to know.”

Harry tried not to dwell on that. “And pushy basically just means… very keen. For everything. Which can be nice. Meanwhile the straight boy archetype,” Harry said, feeling like an exhausted runner who’d sighted the finish line at last, putting on a burst of speed, “that can be effective if they’re the sort that likes the, er, challenge.”

A small wrinkle formed on Eggsy’s forehead. “Bit more than a challenge if they’re straight, innit?” and he sounded so delightfully naive that Harry smirked despite himself. 

“Amazing how persuasive a few drinks and a well-chosen word or two can be.”

The frown vanished and Eggsy raised his eyebrows, regarding him for a long moment. “Huh,” he said, and for a moment it almost looked like he was blushing. 

Harry took another sip of whisky, glanced across at the wallpapered wall beyond their alcove, trying not to smile; he couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of having put him off balance.

Eggsy’s voice, when it came again, was slow and teasing. “You could write a book.”

Harry shot him a sardonic look. 

Eggsy’s eyes gleamed. “ _Seducing the Older Gentleman_ , by Harry Hart. All the tried ’n tested methods.”

“An instant bestseller,” Harry said, and he wanted to laugh with him, to accept Eggsy’s gentle mockery in good humour, but the reason for the whole sorry charade was surfacing in his brain again; something cold and massive rising slowly out of deep waters. Eggsy was going to _use_ his advice. He was going to take what Harry had told him out into the world and use it, and his charm, and his body, for a mission - for Kingsman, and no doubt for the greater good. It was nothing Harry hadn’t done in the past - but there’d never been anyone else in the picture, for him - at least, never anyone he’d been aware of - never any bystander simmering with jealousy, aching to step in and compromise the mark with good old-fashioned ruthless violence instead. It was unpalatable to think about—no, more than that. It was downright unpleasant. 

Which meant he had to put a stop to this, right away. 

Harry drained his glass and set it back on the table, then looked at his watch. “Well,” he said, not bothering to inject any joviality into it, “it’s getting late. If that will be all?”

Eggsy’s hand snapped out, covering the face of Harry’s watch. “No,” he said, in a different voice: soft but firm. “Harry - no. Don’t go.”

The heat of his hand against the back of his wrist was distracting. Harry stared at it. “More questions?”

“Just one, promise,” Eggsy said, shifting closer as if to barricade Harry in, stop him rising from the sofa; Harry jerked his gaze to Eggsy’s face. Eggsy’s eyes were half-closed but fixed on him, dark and intent. “Cos there’s one bit you left out, see.”

The nearness of him was making Harry feel even more restless; he found it difficult to meet Eggsy’s eyes and yet impossible to glance away. 

“Oh?” he asked, as mildly as he could, and realised his fingers were tapping on his thigh, a conduit for the warm frantic energy suddenly rushing beneath his skin. He _had_ to get away from him. 

“What type you go for.”

Harry stilled, every instinct shouting entrapment. His voice sounded hoarse in his ears as he grated out, “What?”

And now Eggsy’s hand moved: lifting to Harry’s throat and slipping his tie between his fingers, then smoothing down, pulling it gently taut. “If I was trying to seduce you,” he said, leaning in a little, “what type would _you_ want me to be?”

And it was all, abruptly, too much. “But you’re not trying to seduce me,” Harry snapped, not bothering to disguise the frustration in his voice; “you’re trying to seduce some _utter lowlife_ , some piece-of-scum mark who does not deserve to lay a finger on you, and—”

“Harry.”

“—And I’m sorry, Eggsy, but I can’t—”

“Harry,” Eggsy repeated, voice low and meaningful.

“—Do this any longer, and frankly it’s completely irresponsible of Merlin to—”

“Oh my fucking God, Harry,” Eggsy said, crushing Harry’s tie in his fist, and leaned in and kissed him. Full on the mouth, his lips pressing firmly against Harry’s, his other hand sliding up into Harry’s hair and holding him still. 

“Oh,” Harry said, the world turning hot and chaotic with a very narrow focus point as Eggsy coaxed his mouth open; Eggsy tasted absurdly sweet - _Coca Cola and impudence_ \- and his mouth was soft and supple and determined and sharp, all at once. Oh. _Oh_.

“For a super-spy,” Eggsy said, against his lips, “you can be pretty _fucking_ oblivious, you get me?” and then his tongue was in Harry’s mouth, both hands in his hair now, making husky noises of pleasure and greed as Harry opened his mouth and tasted, licked, welcomed. His hands realised they had tacit permission to move; he stroked up from Eggsy’s hips, feeling the heat of his muscled back through the thin white shirt, curving around his shoulders and then sweeping back down, barely able to believe any of this was real. 

Eggsy flexed under his touch and whispered, “Yes, Harry,” into his mouth, and then Eggsy’s hands were moving, too—fingernails scratching down the back of Harry’s neck, palms sliding heavy and hot across his chest, pushing Harry down onto his back along the length of the cushions and sinking down on top. Harry stretched out readily underneath him, melting into the battered softness of the sofa, sucking at Eggsy’s tongue and shivering at the scrape of Eggsy’s teeth against his lower lip, distracted by the weight and heat of his body, the sheer electric joy of being held down and kissed like Eggsy had been restraining himself for hours.

As if on cue Eggsy muttered, “At fucking last,” and Harry heard the wealth of pent up frustration in his voice and couldn’t help but laugh.

“You could have said—”

“Harry,” Eggsy interrupted seriously, pulling back to glare at him, scant inches from Harry’s face. “I couldn’t have made it any more fucking obvious if I’d worn a fucking neon sign.”

Harry stared up into his eyes, trying to play back the evening from Eggsy’s viewpoint. _Perhaps not_ , was on the tip of his tongue—but Eggsy’s hips moved, then, a deliberate filthy grind that brought Harry up from half-hard to swollen hot and urgent, and Harry heard himself hiss in response. He pushed up, encouraging the bulge in Eggsy’s trousers to ride against the length of his own cock, and Eggsy groaned and kissed him again, Harry’s name a fervent blur against his tongue.

Harry crooked one knee up, shifting Eggsy more deeply into the vee of his thighs, and lights started to flash in the corners of his vision. Pinned on the sofa with Eggsy on top of him, fiercely kissing and grinding down, Harry was fully hard, now, and his brain was beginning to appreciate that Eggsy wasn’t going anywhere; certainly wasn’t going off to seduce anyone else. No: Eggsy was here with _him_ , in this semi-private alcove, and provided they kept quiet there was surely no end to the list of things Harry could do to him, one after the other.

He could suck Eggsy’s lower lip hard, run his teeth over it and drink in his pretty little gasp. 

He could fuck Eggsy’s mouth with his tongue, and feel Eggsy moan wordlessly into it, thrusting against Harry’s cock. 

He could close both hands on Eggsy’s arse and direct the forced slide of his hips, so the line of his dick pressed exactly where Harry wanted it. 

He could—

“Fuck, Harry, fuck, fuck,” Eggsy started babbling, urgent whispers as he kissed his way along Harry’s jaw, getting an arm underneath Harry’s neck and using it as leverage to shove harder against him, making the lights in Harry’s vision go to full on _fireworks_. It occurred to Harry that he might come, here, right here on this sofa with Eggsy moving on top of him in an eager facsimile of fucking—and in the crazed heat of his brain he found himself thinking that that wouldn’t be so bad, would it? As long as no one saw?

Harry turned his head against the cushions as Eggsy pressed breathless kisses down his neck, and belatedly checked for an audience; but they were fairly well hidden from view, back here. If anyone walked past they’d see, but no one was there to see right now. 

Oh, they definitely _should_ leave—but he couldn’t make himself suggest it, not when the alternative felt this fucking good—and then Eggsy wriggled one hand right down into Harry’s underwear and clasped at his dick, and at the hot tight fantastic squeeze of it Harry said, far too loud: “ _Fuck_.”

“Yes,” Eggsy hissed against his throat, moving his hand in graceless eager jerks that had Harry’s toes curling, “aw, Harry, _yes_ —” but it was too late for Harry to lose himself in it because - fuck - now he could hear footsteps approaching; he forced his eyes open and watched in resigned slow-motion horror as the waiter reappeared. 

To his credit, the waiter’s mask of professionalism barely slipped at the sight of his formerly decent customers’ descent into flagrant disarray. He met Harry’s eyes with an apologetic expression containing just the barest tinge of consternation.

“Um, gentlemen,” he said, and Eggsy noticed at last, freezing and twisting to look, hand clenching around the head of Harry’s cock in a most unhelpfully wonderful way. “Would you… by any chance… like to take a room upstairs?”

“Yes,” Eggsy said immediately, not even taking his hand out of Harry’s trousers, as Harry covered his eyes with his palm.


	5. Chapter 5

“They’ll revoke my membership,” Harry said. 

“Are you kidding? You’ve just given them four hundred quid!”

“And that was just for the drinks.”

Eggsy snorted and jostled against him, the movement somehow evolving into one hand slipping inside Harry’s jacket and smoothing over the slant of his waist. It squeezed appreciatively and then dipped lower, sliding down to cup his arse; Harry twisted out of his grasp and strode on, giving Eggsy a smile that probably looked a tad harassed at this stage. His cock was _aching_. All the way up the narrow stairs and along the hushed corridor, Eggsy hadn’t seemed to be able to keep his hands off Harry, while Harry cleared his throat and doggedly evaded the more flagrant groping, keen to avoid any further public indecency. 

Harry had to admit his dissuasion was becoming… half-hearted at best. He clutched the keycard, scanning the room numbers as they passed, and almost sighed with relief at finding their door; and then did sigh, involuntarily, as Eggsy crowded in close and stood on tiptoes to kiss the back of his neck. Eggsy’s breath was hot and the line of his body was firm, making tantalising little shifts—it was an effort for Harry not to spin around and grab him, haul him against the door, take what was being so blithely offered. 

It took three swipes of the keycard before the light buzzed green, by which point Harry’s fingers were actually trembling. 

The room was as exquisitely furnished as the rest of the Townhouse: heavy cream wallpaper and thick golden-sugar carpets; deep swathes of jacquard curtains and a freestanding porcelain bath on a raised section of dark floorboards; a kingsize bed with monogrammed white sheets that Eggsy wasted no time at all in pushing Harry down onto.

“Never thought I’d survive making Harry Hart _blush_ ,” Eggsy was crowing, hands sliding everywhere now as he pressed Harry flat into the bed and crawled on top, and that was it, his impudent voice burning through the worn tissue paper of Harry’s restraint; Harry growled and flipped him over, crushed him against the mattress, pinned his hands above his head. 

“You haven’t survived it yet,” he said, which Eggsy found pretty fucking arousing, judging by his reaction: arching up beneath him, straining against the hold on his wrists, panting open-mouthed against his ear.

Harry turned his head and kissed him, making it demanding and dirty, biting Eggsy’s lower lip and pushing his tongue into his mouth. Eggsy groaned and kissed back hard, wriggling under him, and Harry’s concentration faltered for a moment; that was all it took for Eggsy to slip his wrists free, hands roaming greedily across Harry’s shoulders and then sliding around to undo his shirt. 

Eggsy felt marvellous underneath him, all taut heat and compact muscle, shifting in needy pulses that made Harry’s cock strain against the line of his trousers. He let Eggsy strip him topless, clothes falling away under Eggsy’s eager hands, and then Eggsy’s mouth was on his shoulder, sucking along his collarbone and nuzzling his neck, and as Harry melted into it he found himself being manoeuvred sideways with Eggsy sliding out from under him - with Eggsy sliding right down onto the floor. 

Harry twisted around and looked down at him, then raised his eyebrows and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed; Eggsy shot him a blinding grin and knelt up, pushing Harry’s knees apart and insinuating himself between them, reaching for his belt buckle. There was a keen focus to his face, pink lower lip trapped between his teeth as he made short work of Harry’s belt, barely glancing up when Harry reached out and brushed his cheekbone with his thumb. He saw something in Harry’s expression, though—his mouth broadening into a grin as he tugged at Harry’s trousers and underwear with both hands, shoving them down as soon as Harry shifted to help and discarding them in a heap on the carpet. 

“So is this the sort of pushy you were talking about?” Eggsy asked, sliding his hands slowly back up Harry’s thighs and leaning in, licking his lips.

Harry bit down on a breathless laugh as the heat of Eggsy’s breath ghosted against his cock. “You - ah! - didn’t need a single bloody word of that explanation, did you?”

“Nah, mate.” Eggsy grinned up at him for a moment, before ducking his head and licking a stripe up his cock. “But I weren’t exactly gonna pass up the chance to have you tell me, like, how to be the perfect rent boy, was I?”

Dear God that felt good. His mouth was _beautiful_. Harry swallowed and managed, faintly: “Any of it?”

“I had to look up ‘ingenue’ on my phone under the table in the restaurant,” Eggsy allowed, squeezing Harry’s thighs as he sucked wet and messy up and down the shaft of Harry’s cock, all shiny lips and soft, generous tongue. The seconds slowed down, or maybe the minutes were speeding up; Harry watched, desire rising in heated eddies in time with the slow greedy movements of Eggsy’s mouth, and he’d almost forgotten what they were talking about by the time Eggsy drew back, lips glazed and eyes heavy, and rasped, “Figured since it was the poshest word it was probably your favourite.”

Oh, right. Ingenue. “It’s—not my favourite,” Harry said, as both Eggsy’s hands moved onto his cock, started eagerly stroking, making Harry grit his teeth against a wave of sensation so good he wanted to cry out. 

“Oh no?” Eggsy said, and looked up again, meeting Harry’s eye as he held the head of Harry’s cock against that well-bitten lower lip, hands still stroking up and down. “What’s your favourite?”

_You_. Luckily Harry was spared answering because the sight and sensation of Eggsy wanking him off practically into his mouth was his utmost priority right now. “Wait, Eggsy. If you—keep doing that—I’m—this isn’t going to last.”

Eggsy’s eyes gleamed. “Oh well,” he said, grinning, “s’pose we’d best focus on me for a bit then, huh,” letting go of Harry’s cock (God damn it) and rising to his feet, hurriedly stripping off (just _damn_ ), and then ducking to rummage in his discarded clothes for a second, before handing Harry a brand new tube of KY jelly. 

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You… brought lubricant?”

“Damn right I did,” Eggsy said, “and the rest,” and a couple of condoms appeared in his other hand, fanned like a deck of cards. 

“Well aren’t you well prepared,” Harry said, trying to maintain his skeptical expression, but it was difficult when his cock had started to throb at the thought of Eggsy buying all this before seeking him out, determined to be fucked.

Eggsy gave him a rakish grin. “Fortune favours the brazen, dunnit Harry?” he said, and Harry didn’t know if he was mangling the quote by mistake or on purpose and right now frankly didn’t care; Eggsy was advancing naked on all fours, encouraging Harry to shift back onto the bed until he hit the pillows piled up against the bedhead, until he sat back against those pillows with Eggsy kneeling over him, his knees planted either side of Harry’s thighs. 

Eggsy’s cock was standing straight up against his stomach, a lovely urgent slant to it, the head shiny and slick, the same swollen red as his bitten lips. Harry reached for it automatically, wanting nothing more in that moment than to guide the head into his mouth and taste that slickness against his tongue, but Eggsy swatted his hand away with a faint, strangled laugh. 

“Way too close, mate - don’t wanna get you in the eye.”

Harry almost laughed back at him, but the noise dried in his throat as Eggsy shifted even closer, shoving his knees deep into the pillows either side of Harry’s hips and then sitting down high on Harry’s thighs, his own thighs spread, nudging the bases of their cocks together. Harry shivered at the warm softness of Eggsy’s balls brushing against his own, his cock straining upwards: Eggsy was practically sitting in his lap, and now he was squeezing lube into both hands, one hand reaching behind himself, the other closing cool and slick and _wonderful_ around Harry’s dick. 

“ _Ah_ ,” Harry said, finding himself that much closer than he’d expected, swelling harder in Eggsy’s hand. 

“Mm,” Eggsy replied, starting to move his arm and rock very slightly against him, the nudging of his hips moving Harry’s cock in his wet grip. “Oh, fuck. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Harry echoed, tracing the rhythmic movement of Eggsy’s bicep with his fingers, sliding down the twist of his arm behind his back, onwards, stroking along the back of his hand, feeling at last for the slippery place where Eggsy had two fingers buried inside himself. At the brush of Harry’s fingertips over his hole, Eggsy sucked in a harsh breath, his own fingers going still. The soft slick warmth of him was far too tempting—Harry pushed his finger in alongside Eggsy’s, watching his face, and Eggsy whined under his breath, frowning and biting his lip but not resisting, not at all. 

Harry had to wet his own lips, staring up at him. He looked sinful like this, almost undone. “You like that?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy said, breathless, nodding fervently, eyes closed, and Harry’s cock flexed in Eggsy’s grip.

Almost like an experiment, Harry eased his finger out and then pushed it in more firmly. 

“ _Ah_ ,” Eggsy hissed, that taut frown deepening. “Wait—fuck, don’t move, just press,” he whispered, and Harry got a jolt of lust at the thought that for all his confidence Eggsy maybe didn’t do this a lot, still needed time to adjust. 

Wait. 

What had Eggsy said, earlier? That his experience with men was limited to _getting down to it with guys his own age - nothing serious_. 

That… couldn’t mean…

Harry looked again at this beautiful, forthright young man, gritting his teeth so prettily as he opened himself up with hasty fingers—it couldn’t _possibly_ be Eggsy’s first time, could it? 

The thought made his mouth too dry to ask. Harry swallowed and let his finger slide oh-so-slowly back inside him, trying not to lose control at the tight, satiny heat of Eggsy’s arse, instead concentrating on staying still and waiting and observing—and then Eggsy started to shift himself, making tiny rocking motions, sliding their fingers just barely in and out, and _groaning_. 

Harry swallowed again and, slow as slow, watching for reaction, added another finger; Eggsy convulsed forward with a moan and let go of Harry’s cock, holding up a shaky hand in warning. 

“Don’t, I’ll fucking come,” he said hoarsely, and Harry stared up at his flushed face and said, voice equally rough,

“I need to be inside you _right now_.”

“Yeah,” Eggsy said, nodding hurriedly now, “yeah,” and then he was moving purposefully, sliding their fingers out and pushing Harry’s hand away, lifting up so Harry’s cock was sticking up between his thighs, fumbling on a condom and slicking over it with even more lube and then lowering himself until the head of Harry’s cock was pressed up against his arse - and stopping. “Just—let me—go slow.”

So whether it was or wasn’t, Eggsy wasn’t letting on. Harry dragged in a deep breath, running his hands up Eggsy’s warm thighs and feeling the trembling strength of them, using every ounce of self control he had not to grab Eggsy by the waist and drag him down onto his cock. 

As if he was reading his mind, Eggsy reached down and wrapped his hand around Harry’s cock, near the head, guiding it against his hole and rocking against it, edging down with a slow deliberate pressure but not - quite - letting it push inside. 

“Fuck,” Harry said, under his breath, and let go of Eggsy’s thighs - the safest place for his hands was palm-down to the sheets right now, steadying himself. Regardless of whether it was Eggsy’s first time getting fucked or his hundredth, Eggsy clearly wanted to control the pace, and Harry was one hundred per cent in favour of that. He just… had to keep his hands to himself and… remember to breathe.

“Mmh,” Eggsy mumbled, shifting more purposefully on the head of Harry’s cock, and Harry hissed at the sensation—warm tightness easing open around him and then clamping down hard as the head of his cock pushed in; Eggsy groaning and lifting off again, that tight heat receding, only to press almost immediately back down. It was interminable, formidable, the sensations coming in dizzying surges as Eggsy worked the head of Harry’s cock in and out of his arse with catastrophic slowness, one hand tight around the shaft, the other planted on Harry’s hip preventing him from thrusting up. 

Harry’s fists closed in the bedclothes as he watched, open-mouthed, staring at his cock in Eggsy’s hand as Eggsy started to sit on it again and again.

“Please,” Harry heard himself say, as Eggsy’s thighs clenched and he rose up, lifting back off.

Eggsy’s gaze locked on his. “Okay but just—don’t move,” he said, voice full of depths like a cloudy night sky, “let me move, yeah?”

“Yes,” Harry said, and then Eggsy was doing it, he was pressing down on Harry’s cock and taking the head back inside and then _not stopping_ , sinking all the way down in a slow slick squeeze that made Harry’s eyes flutter closed with the need to thrust. Harry groaned and twisted handfuls of sheets and stayed still, just, just fucking managed to keep his own arse against the mattress as Eggsy took him slowly but surely to the hilt. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Eggsy moaned, his voice low and breathy with incredulity, and Harry bit his own lower lip hard, shivering with the effort to keep still. He could feel Eggsy’s pulse, hammering away at the base of his cock, hot and wild.

“Is that okay?” Harry asked; it came out as a murmur, and Eggsy nodded jerkily, breathing hard. His cock was a stiff red line against his stomach, clear fluid bulging at the top. Trying to distract himself, Harry raised an unsteady hand and smeared his thumb over the head; Eggsy made a hoarse noise and jabbed his hips upwards, lifting half-off Harry’s cock and then gasping as if in pain, freezing mid-movement. 

Harry ignored how ridiculously good that felt and concentrated on settling him. “Slowly, slowly,” he said, and Eggsy made an abortive movement as if to shove back down on him and then froze again, making another tiny pained noise, his arse gripping Harry like a vice. 

“ _Slowly_ ,” Harry said again, as Eggsy tipped his head back and panted, and then, because now Harry _had_ to ask, he made his voice as non-committal as possible and checked, “—first time?”

Eggsy gave a grunt of acknowledgement, and Harry swallowed down the rush of pure filthy lust at the idea of being this gorgeous young thing’s _first_. He felt like his cock couldn’t get any harder, half-buried in Eggsy’s virgin arse and knowing just how good it felt to be fully inside. But—

“Okay then,” he said, stroking up Eggsy’s straining thighs to the sweaty small of his back, mapping out smooth circles with his fingers. “Gently… there, just try to relax…”

“God, Harry,” Eggsy whispered, and now he was looking down at him, pupils blown, cheeks pink, shoulders rising and falling.

Right, then: _now_ Harry’s cock couldn’t get any harder. “Steady,” he made himself say. “You don’t—have to.”

Eggsy’s focus snapped to his face. “I want to,” he said, voice roughened, and Harry wet his lips, swallowed again. He was _so_ tight. It felt amazing but it had to hurt. 

“Okay,” Harry said again, thinking touch would help, curving his hands around Eggsy’s waist and then smoothing down to cup his arse, again resisting the dirty-sweet urge to thrust up or, better yet, to tug him hard down onto his cock and then hold him in his lap, keep him there, grinding up inside him. “Just breathe, then, stay with me and gently, gently… breathe…”

Eggsy dragged in a quick shuddery breath and another, slower, and Harry felt the tension give, just the tiniest bit. Like lightening, that same urge to thrust flared up and down his spine—he stifled it sternly, contenting himself with a low approving hum, and slid his hands back around Eggsy’s warm hips and down to the base of his cock, careful, deliberate. 

“Mm,” Eggsy said, another involuntary-sounding noise, his eyes falling closed. 

“Is… this okay?” Harry asked, watching Eggsy’s face, and then he wrapped one hand around Eggsy’s cock and slowly started to stroke, and Eggsy gave a hiss that sounded a lot more like pleasure than pain. 

“Mm,” Eggsy repeated, nodding now, and Harry licked his other palm and joined both hands on Eggsy’s cock, slicking it from root to tip, his strokes getting firmer. “ _Mm_.”

“We can just do this,” Harry said, trying to disguise the heat in his voice, trying to make his voice persuasive, hypnotic. “Just this, let me do this for you. You don’t have to move. Unless you want to.”

“Mm—oh, fuck, Harry,” Eggsy whispered, and Harry _felt_ the moment he started to relax on his dick, the rigid tightness giving way to a shifting squeezing tension that felt like - oh, fuck - like they were definitely getting somewhere. 

Harry wet his palm again and slid it over the crown of Eggsy’s cock, and Eggsy made a soft noise and pushed into his hand. It moved him on Harry’s cock and—he didn’t freeze, no, not this time; he made another soft noise and then _amplified_ the movement, rising onto his knees and then sinking back down, a long slow push. Harry could see the sensation of it in Eggsy’s face: lips parting, eyebrows tilting up, that warm flush starting at his cheeks and spreading right down his throat.

“Oh, fuck, Harry,” Eggsy whispered again, and did it again, and Harry bit back a moan and concentrated on keeping up a steady rhythm stroking Eggsy’s cock instead. Now was _not_ the appropriate time to give in to the need to go ahead and all-out fuck him, however desperately he wanted to; not when Eggsy was finally, if devastatingly slowly, starting to _move_. 

“You look incredible,” Harry said, his voice catching on every syllable like nails snagging on silk, and Eggsy sank fully into his lap at last and _tilted_ his hips, edging every last inch of him inside, and Harry couldn’t help it, he had to kiss him, to surge up beneath him and taste Eggsy’s mouth, coil an arm around his shoulders and hold him there. 

“Fuuuuck,” Eggsy breathed, against his lips, “ _Harry_ ,” and started rocking in his lap, shifting Harry’s cock inside him in a glorious, maddening grind. 

“Yes,” Harry said, biting his lip and then sucking his tongue, his hips starting to hunch up despite himself, “oh, that feels—Oh, yes—”

“Mm,” Eggsy said again, lifting up properly, until the head of Harry’s cock was barely inside him—and then driving back down. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Harry groaned, velvet heat slashing through his self control, still _trying_ not to grab and thrust, just about. Just about—but he realised his hands had found Eggsy’s hips nonetheless, closing possessively tight and beginning to bounce him up and down. Guiding Eggsy to ride him, unsteady at first and then with more surety, and dear God if that growing confidence wasn’t one of the downright sexiest things Harry had ever had the pleasure to witness. 

“Harry, fuck,” Eggsy gasped, one hand flying to his own cock, wrapping around the head and furiously working it, “fuck, fuck, _yes_ —”

Harry lost control at that, at the sight of Eggsy stroking himself while Harry’s cock slid in and out of his arse—he started fucking him properly, from below, hips snapping up to drive his cock in as far as it would go, his gaze fixed on Eggsy’s face and the impact jolting through him in hot little groans. 

“Harry, oh, fuck, fuck, _Harry_ ,” Eggsy moaned, and then he clenched down hard and started to come, a hot sudden splatter across Harry’s skin, Eggsy’s fist pumping his cock as it striped Harry’s stomach, his chest, his neck. 

Harry heard himself make a noise that was more like a growl than anything else, and flipped them over. Pushed Eggsy down onto his back on the mattress, pushed his legs over his shoulders, and pounded into him with all the force and ferocity he’d been holding back—because Eggsy was soft, now, soft-slick-hot and yielding and making the most incredible noises, slurry but rhythmic as if Harry’s thrusts were knocking the breath right out of him. Harry groaned again and fucked him harder, wrapping his hands around Eggsy’s hips and holding him at just the right angle to _ruin_ him, and then Eggsy clenched down again and Harry shut his eyes against the beautiful perfect heat of it, shoving in one last time and coming hot and deep, shaking and swearing on top of him. 

He felt like the room span for a long time before he slid to one side, pulling out with a low groan and rolling free of the warm tangle of Eggsy’s limbs which had at some point closed around him. He needed to lie flat, for a moment—to drag in fast breaths and radiate heat and wait for his brain to come back online. 

“Fucking hell,” Eggsy croaked, while Harry’s pulse was still thundering in his ears almost loud enough to drown out speech.

Harry rolled back towards him onto his side, and belatedly reached down to deal with the condom. “Fucking hell,” he agreed, knotting it quickly and throwing it in the bin by the bed, without looking away from Eggsy for even half a second. He just couldn’t. 

Eggsy was lying sprawled out, one arm over his eyes, chest still rising and falling. His body was shiny with sweat, glistening with smeared come, and his legs were lolling open, the thick line of his cock slumped against his stomach. He didn’t look like any virgin Harry had ever seen. And - well. He wasn’t any more, was he?

“Fucking hell,” Eggsy mumbled again, then cleared his throat, grinned. “That. Was. Sick.”

Harry laughed, and Eggsy peeked out from under his arm—and _that_ was an arresting enough image that Harry shifted closer without thinking, tilted Eggsy’s face towards him with one careful finger, and said seriously, “It was, rather, wasn’t it?”

Eggsy’s face was so close Harry could see his gaze darting from one eye to the other. “An’ I survived.”

“Just about,” Harry allowed, feeling Eggsy’s mouth curve under his fingertip. He let his voice go teasing: “Touch and go for a while there.”

Eggsy had the grace to blush and look away. “Fuck off,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, half-laughing. 

Harry cupped Eggsy’s face, tilted it back towards him. “No,” he said, and kissed him - a slow kiss, warm and firm and languid. He felt Eggsy’s raised arm drape casually around his shoulders, and _loved_ that sensation. Oh, he was in trouble here. 

When he drew back, Eggsy’s eyes were almost closed and his breath was coming shallow again. He looked like the absolute best type of trouble, to Harry. 

Harry pressed his lips together. “You could have told me,” he said gently, because it had to be said, but it didn’t have to be reproving. “I might not’ve—” 

Eggsy’s eyes flew open. “Yeah, exactly,” he interrupted, raising his eyebrows authoritatively. “You might not’ve!”

“—Let you rush it so much,” Harry finished, and smirked at the unguarded flicker of surprise that went through Eggsy’s expression. “Fear not, dear boy - as soon as you threw yourself at me, there were absolutely no doubts as to where this was going.” He dropped his voice, brushed a kiss against Eggsy’s damp lower lip. “The thought of fucking you has been most diverting for some time,” he murmured. “Believe me when I say the thought of popping your cherry made it… all the sweeter.”

“Oh right,” Eggsy said, and he actually looked _mollified_ \- Lord save them - so there was nothing for Harry to do but kiss him again.

Eggsy wriggled around at that, shifting one bare leg over Harry’s hip, sliding his hand up Harry’s back to rest at the nape of his neck. Harry pressed closer against him—they should really be thinking about washing, probably ought to make use of that ostentatious bathtub if he was to get his money’s worth for this ridiculous room, but right now all he wanted was to wrap himself around this absurd young man and try to absorb him. He opened his mouth to Eggsy’s tongue, tasted his own skin, found himself blinking when Eggsy was the one to draw back. 

“So is that your type, then?” Eggsy asked, and now his voice was shot through with mischievous amusement. “Pushy virgins?”

Harry stifled a laugh, shook his head. “No!”

“What then?” Eggsy persisted, all incorrigible eyes and dimpled grin, and Harry found himself just - looking. 

_No type_ , he thought. _Just you._ He couldn’t say that out loud. “Apparently… what men like me want,” he said eventually, stroking a finger slowly down Eggsy’s face and then tapping him on the chin, “is a sneaky, infuriating little schemer who won’t take no for an answer, doesn’t know when to stop, and is so bloody young and beautiful I’m going to be constantly checking over my shoulder in case a rival for his affections is about to stab me in the back.”

Eggsy’s incorrigible grin turned delighted. “That right?” he said. “Aw, well - luckily for you, the only thing that men like _me_ want,” he drawled, angling their faces together for a kiss, lingering, “is a guy who talks like you,” another slow kiss, “and dresses like you,” and another, “and gets girls on pianos to play epic grime covers even though he blatantly never heard ‘em before,” another, harder kiss, backed with a broader grin, “and wouldn’t recognise a come-on if it _literally_ took them out to dinner and a gay bar and then played footsie with them in a poncy fucking hotel.”

There… wasn’t much there that Harry could take issue with. Nevertheless. “You were hardly playing footsie.”

“I stroked your leg!”

“Patted,” Harry insisted, and then at Eggsy’s sardonic look, “…Perhaps we can agree to disagree.”

“Whatever,” Eggsy said, and then looked for a moment like he was going to say something else.

Harry waited, and then, when Eggsy didn’t say anything, raised his eyebrows. “More questions?”

Eggsy flashed him a grin so pleased it bordered on triumphant. “Nah, mate,” he said. “Reckon I’ve got all the answers I need for now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Meanwhile on tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ukcalico)


End file.
